


The one that had nine lives

by Trojie



Series: Stories that aren't about cats [9]
Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Break Up, Car Accident, Crimes & Criminals, Internalized Homophobia, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:18:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Has One Two lost out? If he has, it's his own stupid fuckin' fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The one that had nine lives

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by the amazing Immoral-Crow <3

Now that Bob's driving for him, they see a lot more of Johnny in the Speeler.

Like most of them, One Two knew Johnny best just before he was a rock 'n roller - when he had a band and he had talent but he didn't have quite enough money to bury himself in the snow, so he hung around with all the lost boys his step-father accidentally introduced him to, still half-toff, mid-transformation to junkie. Johnny now is like he's halfway back down the same road - rubbing off the junkie and finding his inner toff again. Only he's still loud and he's still dangerously unpredictable, and now he has Archy on his side. 

And on his other side, he's got Handsome Bob.

One Two stays away. Bob was pretty definite last time they spoke. Tell the boys, he said. That was his bargain. Tell the boys, and I'll keep fuckin' you through your mattress. Tell the boys, and I'll kiss you again, graze your mouth cos I haven't shaved, lick you where it hurts. Tell the boys, and we can keep doing this stupid fuckin' thing we've been doing, that you want and you hate wantin'.

He didn't say it like that, but that's what One Two hears, late at night, in bed, when he's not thinking about it.

At the Speeler, One Two doesn't stare. He greets and he laughs but he doesn't join in, and he doesn't stare, even when Johnny's hand lingers at Bob's waist when he passes him to get to the door. Johnny's always been tactile - fidgety and grabby, no personal space - and Bob works for him now. If Johnny wants to get handsy that's something they can work out between them. 

Archy coughs over the newspaper One Two is using as a shield. 'Mind if I join you?' he asks. One Two gestures at the table, meaning _it's a free country, help yourself_. 'The boss doesn't want me breathing down his neck all the time,' Archy adds. 

Hah, thinks One Two, without rancour. He knows as well as anyone that this is the best table to sit at to see the whole room without being in everyone else's sightlines at the same time. That's why he's sitting here, isn't it. 

He keeps reading. Across the room, Fred is telling everyone in his stoic, unflappable voice that threes are highest, then three aces, then a running flush, a run, a flush, and a pair. 'What's going on in the world today, then?' asks Archy like he doesn't particularly care. Barbara is making her way over with two cups of tea.

'Oh, you know,' says One Two, putting the paper down with a rustle. 'People you've never heard of are running away with everyone's money.'

'Same old same old, then.' Archy snorts. 'You boys up to anything of interest at the moment?' he asks.

'Ah now, nothing you need to worry about,' One Two replies, smiling a bit. 'Don't fret, Arch, you know we'll stay outta your way.'

'Just a friendly enquiry, that's all,' says Archy. 'Making conversation.'

The Wild Bunch _don't_ have anything on, actually. Well, they don't really have a fuckin' driver at their beck and call any more, do they? Bob's time's scheduled now, and funnily enough, nothin's lining up just right at the moment. 'We are between jobs at the moment, as it happens,' One Two admits. 'These things happen, right?'

'That they do, my son, that they do,' agrees Archy. 'A little bird told me work might be picking up around these parts in the not-too-distant future, though, so it'd pay to keep your ear to the ground.' He's got a tiny, dark little smile on his face that hints that maybe that's a tip, not just a bit of idle gossip. One Two files it away. 

He's debating picking up the paper again, when Archy produces a pack of cigarettes conspiratorially and asks him if he'll join. One Two doesn't smoke, but then again, he's fairly certain Archy isn't asking him for the pleasure of his company.

He's right.

'Didn't want to bring this up inside, One Two, because this is a private kind of a matter.'

Something cold settles deep in One Two's gut. 'Oh?' he says. 

'I'm told you and Bob are no longer an item,' Archy flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette, raises an eyebrow at One Two as he does so. 'At least, that's what young Bob says, so I hope you're on the same page.'

'And why would that matter?' One Two asks, calm. Of course he's calm. Getting angry at Archy is fuckin' suicidal. And fuckin' pointless, when the man he's itching to punch in the face is Johnny, Johnny Quid and his 'I own this town' swagger, his long coats and his long fuckin' fingers all over the slant of Bob's hips.

'Come off it, One Two. I saw you watching them.' Archy drops the half-smoked cigarette, grinds it under his heel and asks, 'Are you gonna make this a problem?'

One Two suddenly can't be fucked. Can't be fucked lying, can't be fucked fighting something he can't stop. 'No,' he says. 'No, Arch, I'm not gonna make this a problem. Bob made his point very clear to me the other night. S'not my place to make this a problem. They're consenting adults.'

Archy snorts very gently. 'Good lad,' he says. 'Good lad.'

One Two goes home, because he can't punch Johnny the way he wants to, because he can't watch the game _without_ wanting to. 

His phone rings and he doesn't answer it. When he checks his voicemail, all it says is, 'One Two. Fuck, just -' and sighs in Bob's voice, whisky rough. 'Don't. I don't -'

And then in the background is another voice, loud and cocky and familiar, telling Bob to come to bed. 

One Two chucks his phone at the wall, hears it smack and crack and skitter across his wooden floors with a savage kind of satisfaction, and goes to sleep. 

***

'You ever fuckin' turn your phone on?' Mumbles demands when One Two rolls up to the Speeler that night. He's been waiting outside, catches One Two before he can go in. 

'Sorry,' One Two shrugs. 'Had an accident with it.'

'Well get a new one, you twat - we've got a job on.'

***

'We're working for Johnny,' says Mumbles, and crosses his arms across his barrel-chest.

They're shut away in the back room of the Speeler. One Two can't work out why no-one's ever accused him and Mumbles of being bum-chums, the amount of time they spend in cleaning cupboards having secret talks. And this time Mumbles has caught One Two right on the back foot and he started to throw his arms out in a _whatthefuck_ gesture before he caught himself. So that's a shelf down and some suspicious banging and crashing, and a bruise forming on the back of his forearm just to start off the evening. 

Mumbles watches him calmly through all thirty seconds of reaction. 'Problem?' he asks.

Course there's a fucking problem. One Two knows Mumbles knows this is gonna be a fucking problem. But he can't say so, cos if he could say so to Mumbles then why the fuck did he tell Bob to fuck off? That's the _point_. 

But if Mumbles _knows_ …

Yeah, and that doesn't matter. Just like there are plenty of things the rozzers know that they can't pin on the Wild Bunch. And One Two isn't gonna troop down to the station and sign confessions just because he's pretty sure the pigs are pretty sure. One Two is gonna keep the pantyhose over his head and the gloves on his hands and Mumbles can know whatever the fuck he likes as long as he can't prove it. 

'No problem,' he says, instead of all of that. 

'You are a fucking awful liar,' says Mumbles. And here's the thing about Mumbles - he's the most honest criminal One Two has ever met. And he _knows_. He brought One Two back here to let him have his little moment in private. He knows.

Would it be so bad? ...

'Just tell me about this bloody job, Mumbles.' One Two crosses his arms in front of him and pays attention. Fuck the rest of this bollocks, it can wait. One Two has priorities, okay?

***

Heading out of the Speeler two nights later, One Two makes the mistake of looking both ways as he goes to cross the street, and spots two blokes leaning up against a car together. One of them's shorter and stockier, the other taller, thin, in an expensive looking long coat. The taller one's boxing the shorter one in against the front passenger's side door, grinning. They look like a scene from a film in the yellow streetlight that they're standing in. 

The one who's being ground up against the car is clearly saying _no, not here, come on_ in a half-joking kind of way, trying to get free without really meaning it. He doesn't succeed.

The tall bloke bends a bit to kiss his friend. The friend's hands come up to frame the tall bloke's face, and as soon as One Two sees that, the crooked little finger and the way the friend catches the tall bloke and takes control of a situation that he didn't look like he was in control of before, just by his kiss, One Two knows, recognises them. 

Bob snogs Johnny good and hard, and pushes him, turns him until it's Johnny rolled up against the bodywork of the BMW and Bob gives him one last forceful taste, and then steps back, and looks up and down the road, presumably to check they haven't been seen. They're out in the open, One Two wants to shout. Anyone, _everyone_ could have seen you, you stupid fuckers. That's not how you keep a secret.

It isn't until later, until One Two's grinding his teeth in the effort to keep his mouth shut, to keep from saying certain words as he touches himself in bed, that he realises they weren't trying to keep a secret at all.

***

The job is the only reason One Two's even seen Bob this week. He wonders if this is what it's going to be like when Bob's Johnny's man all the time. It's going to happen eventually, isn't it. And then the Wild Bunch'll be down to two, just Mumbles and One Two, just like the old days. 

But for now, they have the job at least. 

Bob's voice has always been just on the right side of ruined. It tips over that line when you add the crackle of cheap cellphones and bad reception, but the message is clear. 'Alright boys, here we go,' he says, and One Two says, 'Right-oh,' and hangs up. 'C'mon,' he says, and nudges Mumbles.

Mumbles picks up his jacket, and they shoulder their way down into the fiery belly of Hell, also known as the Circle Line. Somewhere above them, Bob is driving. One Two saw him pulling on an honest-to-God uniform jacket earlier. He had leather driving gloves on. He looked the part - not like a criminal.

To One Two's mind, he looked like a crime. Like something One Two would like to commit.

Bob's the driver. Johnny and Archy and the whole set-up though, they're the distraction. The car is a pretty one, a bit of flash - Johnny likes his toys, and this old Jag is one of those, alright. One Two and Mumbles are takin' the Tube, nice and easy, anonymous in the crush of people in rush hour, to see about a little bag of diamonds that happens to be moving from jeweller to jeweller today. Bob, playing the chauffeur in his cap and all, is gonna take Johnny and Archy to viewing distance of the jewellery shop, where they have a nice broad-daylight meeting with one of their best customers. The car, and Bob, are then gonna go into a parking garage, where One Two and Mumbles will meet them.

One Two mutters, 'This is gonna go fuckin' sour,' to Mumbles as they beep their way through the electronic ticket gates. Mumbles just rolls his eyes, stuffs his Oyster card back into his pocket, and forges ahead. 

Johnny knows a dirty jeweller, a little creep who gets his thrills from bare-faced lying - salting his wares with some kind of fake that's apparently hard to detect, and who then has a few extra diamonds just lying around, as you do. Johnny has offered to take those diamonds off this man's hands in exchange for something. One Two doesn't know what. Protection, rent, 'public relations'. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that One Two and Mumbles are considered safe enough hands by Johnny, and more importantly by Archy, to receive a bag of sparklers and not get sticky-fingered before delivering them back to their new owners. 

The Tube kind of calms One Two down, in that weird way that ordinary boring things do. It's steaming hot and it's packed, and he stands and sways with one hand hooked around a clammy metal bar and keeps his balance mostly cos he's wedged against Mumbles and some girl in leopard print and a backpacker's enormous rucksack, and it's almost soothing. Or numbing, maybe.

He starts to worry again when they come back up into the (relatively) cold air on the street, but he shoves his hands into his pockets and walks. Doesn't matter what he feels - he's got a job to do, yeah? 

_Ting_ goes the bell over the jeweller's door. Oh good. There're two cameras recording their faces for posterity, one overlooking the main counter, the other the door. One Two's fingers itch.

'Ah, good afternoon sir,' says the little fucker behind the counter to Mumbles, all grin and fidget. One Two hangs back and looks, bored, at the display cases of watches, like he's out with his mate on their lunch break and is just tagging along as Mumbles runs an errand. 'And you'll be here for your watch? It was only a battery that wanted changing - yes, thank you, that'll be -' and it turns into a transaction, the watch apparently in a little velvet jeweller's bag, the kind with the shop name in gold paint printed on it. 

One Two wonders just how many illicit diamonds you can get into a bag with a watch in it. Probably a fair few. He spins a display of earrings around and peers at a few like he's thinking about buying a gift for a missus he doesn't have. Mumbles pays for the battery replacement on a watch he never bought in the first place (not that it'll hurt him to get a fuckin' watch out of this deal, who doesn't need a watch?), and One Two keeps up the bored look.

'Something for you as well, sir?' asks the jeweller, skirting round the countertop. What is he doing? Either he's an idiot or he's the coolest-headed amateur One Two's ever worked with, cos most fences and dealers and other such naughty boys tend to want you off the property as soon as humanly possible. 

'No thanks,' says One Two, pushing away from the sparklers he was eyeing. 'I shouldn't.'

'Oh, come now. Ladies like to be treated.' The jeweller's eyes twinkle like his dirty dealings inside that bag. 'Make her feel appreciated, hmmm?'

One Two will be fucked before he gives his money to someone who gets his kicks from cheating his business partners. 'Nah. I should be getting along, anyway,' he says. Mumbles has already left, is making 'hurry up' gestures out the window as if they're late back to the office. 

'I hope she at least gets flowers,' the jeweller says as One Two turns on his heel.

 _Ting_ goes the shop bell. 

***

'See? No hassle,' says Mumbles, both hands shoved into his pockets against the chill.

'Yeah, alright.' One Two lengthens his stride a little just to catch up with Mumbles, who's a couple of steps ahead. 'Let's get back, for God's sake. I just want to be done, right?'

It's nothing out of the ordinary when tyres squeal down the side road they're turning into, and One Two doesn't even look. The hard sound of collision and breaking glass makes him start though.

'Bloody hell,' says Mumbles, and grabs One Two's elbow. 'Come on, you tosser,' he says, yanking One Two into a stumbling run. One Two goes along with it, trying to work out why, trying to work out why the car that got smacked, an oldish Jag, looks familiar, until he gets close enough to see past the car that did the damage and recognise the arm dangling out of the window with its leather-gloved hand, and the face of the man in the car, in the driver's seat, with his scruffy chin and his buzz-cut hair and … and -

'Fuck, Bob,' says Mumbles, pushing through the oncoming concerned citizens. One Two keeps following him, uncomprehending. 'Call the ambulance, mate,' he says, grabbing at One Two again. 'Call the _bloody ambulance_.'

One Two fumbles for his phone.

The driver of the other car, the one that t-boned the driver's side of Bob's Jag, is stuttering about how sorry he is, over and over and over 'til One Two wants to hit him just to make the fucker shut up, let alone for what he's done. Instead, he dials 999 on some kind of autopilot.

Bob isn't moving. One Two has known Bob for a long time but he's never known him to be this still, ever. And One Two knows, somewhere deep-buried in his chest, that he could have dealt with Bob walking away from him, with Bob choosing someone else, because fuck it, that was One Two's fault. But he can't - he _can't_ deal with Bob never moving again. 

'Fucking pick up the fucking phone,' he snarls into his mobile just as the operator asks him which service he requires.

They're not to move Bob. The dispatchers are sending an ambulance. _No-one is to move Bob_. He's breathing, Mumbles says so, so no-one is to touch him until the ambulance arrives. 

One Two disconnects the call. There's more shouting. He moves towards the car, to where Mumbles is crouched by the driver's side door, leaning up against the crunched bumper of the car that hit Bob, talking quietly at Bob, who still isn't moving, who's not bleeding and is breathing but _isn't moving_. One Two is about to crouch down there too, and then someone grabs him by the shoulder. 

'What happened?' Johnny demands, looking wild and sounding hoarse. Archy is standing behind him, glaring at the now almost hysterical driver of the other car. 'Tell me what happened, One Two.'

'I hit him,' says the other driver, because he's been saying it over and over again and can't seem to stop. 'I didn't, I just looked down for a second, just a second, it was a text, I wasn't even going to answer it but I just wanted to see who it was, and then -'

'Shut up,' says Archy. 

'One Two?' Johnny asks. He's impatient, but he's holding it in.

'Like he says,' says One Two. 'I guess. I didn't see it, John. I was coming round the corner with Mumbles. I just - I just heard it.'

Johnny pushes past to get into the space One Two was about to sit in. Mumbles stops him from trying to hold Bob's hand. One Two just watches. Johnny's allowed. Johnny wasn't ashamed to snog Bob in full view of man and God on a spotlit fucking street. 

One Two wants to punch him still. Possessiveness clutches his heart. 

'Don't be stupid, One Two,' murmurs Archy behind him. 'Now isn't the time, my son.'

'You know what, Arch?' One Two says. 'I think I do have a fuckin' problem after all, consenting adults or not.'

There's a wry smile in Archy's voice when he says, 'Thought you might. But you be careful how you deal with your problems, One Two, because you don't wanna have one with me, now do you?'

'This isn't a business matter. It's between me and Bob, and Johnny if he's gonna go there. Not you, Arch.'

'If it involves Johnny, my old son, it involves me. You know that.'

Sirens coming closer mean One Two doesn't have to answer that, doesn't say something fuckin' stupid, or fuckin' stupider than he already has. Men in uniforms pull the cars away from each other, get Bob out and onto a stretcher and into the ambulance with blankets and tubes all over him. And Johnny gets up and makes to get in the back of the ambulance, gets his hand up about to pull himself inside, when One Two stops him.

'I'm going with him,' says One Two. 

'I'm his … employer,' says Johnny angrily, looking around at the crowd they've gathered, not saying a different word, a word he could have said. The word One Two was expecting him to say.

Fuck it. 'Yeah, well I'm his friend,' says One Two, and scrambles into the back of the ambulance. The paramedics shut the door then, because at least someone's going with Bob and they look like they're in a rush, and One Two looks out the little van-door type windows at the retreating, angry face of Johnny with Archy standing behind him, and wonders if he's just made the choice that he's been afraid of making all along.

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I promise this isn't the end. Two more installments are planned and in the works, and I swear, the end is happy <3


End file.
